Tales of the Red and the White
by Lackwit
Summary: Paired stories linked by a common theme and the colors red and white. Chapters not always chronological but from the same universe– interpretive manga canon. Ch 4: That which we reap: after the rain, Kenshin considers the harvest
1. Summer showers, spring showers

**Disclaimer**: Rurouni Kenshin is owned by Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and Viz, LLC, _etc_. The following is a work of fiction intended only for entertainment and reflects the author's admiration for the remarkable world of our favorite wanderer. Oh, yes, any resemblance to actual historical characters is incidental.

**Summary**: This series consists of chapters of paired stories linked by a common theme and the colors red and white. Although not necessarily presented in chronological order, the chapters will often be related and are all from the same universe (interpretive but firmly manga canon).

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- - - - - 1 - - - - -

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"You've done well, so–"

Katsura paused at the sound of voices approaching the closed door, both he and his youthful companion turning when the shoji was pushed aside. The thin dark-eyed man who slipped in flashed his teeth in a wide grin at the irritated grumble that followed him.

"No need for formalities, Katakai!" he shouted over his shoulder. "We're all friends here, eh?" He turned back to the room and waggled his brows at the two men seated within.

Katsura's face relaxed in an answering smile. "Shinsaku! I didn't expect to see you here, so far from your beloved Kihetai."

"Kyosuke, that most excellent second-in-command, is more than happy to bully them in my stead when I get the urge to prowl." Takasugi Shinsaku sprawled on the floor beside the two men and laid down his shamisen, then nodded at the heretofore-silent third member of the group. "And how do you fare, Kenshin?"

A soft knock at the shoji alerted them to the arrival of a young girl bearing fresh tea and small cakes. The men sat in silence as she replenished cups and distributed the snacks before leaving them once more to their privacy.

The red-haired youth addressed earlier politely waited until Takasugi had taken some refreshment before he answered. "I am well, Takasugi-san."

The older man grinned and tossed a cake that Kenshin deftly caught. A faint answering smile lightened Kenshin's face before he composed himself and turned inquiring eyes to Katsura, who nodded his dismissal.

"You may go, Himura. Get some rest."

Kenshin bowed. "Katsura-san. Takasugi-san," he said quietly. The two older men watched his silent departure from the room.

"Himura, eh?" Takasugi remarked when the shoji had slid closed behind the youth. "Interesting. Your idea?"

"The idea, yes, but I'izuka was the one who suggested the name. It appeared to suit and Himura had no objections." Katsura smiled. "It seemed the right thing to do for so important a patriot."

"I'izuka has a clever mouth on him," Takasugi remarked, stretching lazily as he chewed on a cake. "So how has your pet hitokiri fit in?"

Katsura contemplated the faint shimmer of steam rising from his teacup. "As well as can be expected. Other than I'izuka the men are quite in awe of him despite his youth, which is not entirely a bad thing."

"Hmm– lonely work. He seems to still be that nice, bright-eyed kid though. Surprising. Quieter, perhaps?"

"He's tired. He's been very busy, more so than I had originally planned."

"So I've heard."

Katsura raised an eyebrow at his companion. "Is Himura why you are here?"

"Heh." Takasugi smirked. "Don't blame me for my curiosity. No sooner do I wander in than your observers almost wet themselves in their eagerness to fling themselves on me and tell me tales. If I hadn't seen that boy in action before I wouldn't have believed their stories." Takasugi picked up his shamisen and smoothed the cat skin cover. "That's quite the little dragon you have by the tail, Kogoro."

"Don't worry, Shinsaku," Katsura answered. "He believes in us, and more importantly, he has a pure heart."

"Pure heart or not, the boy can kill." Takasugi shrugged. "An instinct for it, your observers claim. One fellow kept droning about Himura's 'incredible' first mission and insisted I listen. My fist itched to shut his dreary mouth but as it turned out I'm glad I heard him out. After all, I've never been on the receiving end of a hitokiri's invitation to one final dance, nor even had the pleasure of witnessing one firsthand."

"Shinsaku–" Katsura began, a small frown drawing his brows together.

"Hear me out!" Takasugi laughed. "No doubt you've heard it in tedious detail already but such knowledge screams for release. A lot for you to listen to, eh, especially since you've decided to increase your prodigy's output. You poor bastard, Kogoro."

Katsura's mouth twisted. "Once you called me 'a shrine'. Well, a shrine hears prayers, secrets, and confessions, doesn't it? You may consider it my punishment if you wish."

Takasugi shook his head and grinned again. "I may favor the battlefield and I may leave the dirtiness of city fighting to you but I do still recall the teachings of our school. You might be surprised at my thoughts."

He began to play and the two long-time comrades sat listening to the light notes of the shamisen filling the room, while beyond the shoji faint murmurs and the sounds of a busy inn echoed. Finally Katsura gazed at his companion, who rested at his ease against the wall as he played, and murmured, "Shinsaku, I am listening."

Takasugi lazily opened one eye and looked at his leader, the shamisen falling idle in his hands. "That dull fellow was flattered that I hung on to his words so attentively. Bah! Surely the absurdity of Himura's first effort didn't escape you as it did your starry-eyed observer? Shall I interpret for you what unfolded before his eyes and ears but what he did not _see_ or _hear_? Ah, it was better than a play!

"Look! Our brave young hitokiri steps out of the shadows. Hear him proclaim his victim's fate in his bold boy's voice– which promptly cracks!"

Takasugi flung back his head in laughter as he continued, "Such a perfect time to declare yourself a man. And to act! A couple clumsy attendants are duly dispatched after a few useless moments bellowing and stomping and flailing helplessly at the ruthless killing wind. Now 'tis time for the unfortunate fellow himself: a skinny old root as dried up as the tax rolls in which he had wallowed daily for years. His family would no doubt be honored to remember him for the weightiness of his final words: 'Unruly rascal! Just how old are you, boy?'"

Katsura frowned into his tea as Takasugi continued to chortle. "Don't make light of the mission; it did not play out so foolishly as that."

Takasugi's laughter stopped. "No," he agreed, and grinned when Katsura shot him a surprised glance. "Didn't I say you would be surprised at my thoughts?"

Katsura shook his head and sighed, "Enough with your wordplay, Shinsaku. Speak plainly!"

"Bah, you old sobersides. Plain speech can't be used to describe the birth of a legend. Don't look at me like that. Did you truly think I would not understand what you hoped for when you unleashed the fury of the Ishin Shishi?

"That 'observer' of yours was dazzled enough to surprise even you, eh? And why not? _Ultimately none of the real ridiculousness mattered_. I could hear the belief in his voice even after the first wonder had worn off. When poetry falls from the lips of even a dullard such as he– he spoke of how the gods howled as Justice soared into the heavens and then fell, with a great cry, like a summer storm upon the necks of the condemned, swift and ruthless. First the thunder and the lightning, afterwards the rain– a heavy shower of fat red drops, rich with the scent of death, splashing hotly against the skin; and when it was all over only the slow drip upon the stones to mark a man's end.

"He spoke of the silence after the storm– the terrible peace where only Himura stood."

"A terrible peace," Katsura murmured. "You describe it well, Shinsaku."

Takasugi nodded at Katsura. "Already I have felt a change in the wind that blows out of Kyoto– the wind that bears forth whispers, even to where only a simple goat boy may linger to hear, and wonder, and fear. Your madness may actually work." He shrugged and added, "But mind you, what I objected to when you started this still holds: your boy is likely to be washed away in the deluge."

"Shinsaku…" Katsura sighed.

"I know, I know." Takasugi swallowed his cooling tea and grimaced. "Tea's no substitute for sake– poor food for composition." He frowned and cocked his head in thought, his fingers plucking tentative notes upon his shamisen. After a long moment his hand stilled and in the sudden silence he spoke. "Katsura Kogoro of the Choshu Ishin Shishi, listen!

"_City of Flowers, with rain-darkened stones night washed, I watch bloom anew and drown in tear-swollen streets ever filled by Heaven's sword."_

Takasugi's words died away beneath the slow, steady melody his skillful fingers began to pluck on the shamisen strings. Katsura inhaled and closed his eyes, letting the song of the deadly rain drum steadily through him.

_For all the wiliness of his tongue Shinsaku sees clearly._

_Kyoto's rainy season has begun._

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**- - - - - 2- - - - - **

He tucked the shawl around his neck and squinted in the pale sunshine, smiling at the sparrows spiraling in the blue sky above him. Despite the weakness of its rays the sun was warm and he was grateful. His clothes, which had seen as hard times as he had, had had provided scant warmth during the cold months before.

But now it was spring at last, a time of renewal. The road lay empty before him, beckoning him into the hopes and uncertainties of the new era, while Toba Fushimi and the ruins of an age lay several weeks and many more steps behind. Shifting the weight of his modest bundle upon his shoulder he considered the dirt beneath his worn sandals.

Many steps and three lifetimes.

_Shinta. Kenshin. Battousai. _

The names might change but the pattern did not. Each time remade by the whims of others, his life had touched others in an awkward weaving of unexpected compassion, mutual need, and expedience, of rare odd moments of peace overshadowed by bloody ferocity. Always, another touch of innocence lost.

How many more times would the cycle continue?

This time, bearing the gift of a blade forged backwards that did not yet love his touch and a scarred face that forever marked him for his acts, he had striven to lay his own hand on the steering of his life. However askance his former comrades might view him, the simple _rurouni_ at least was one of his shaping– his reflection of the man Himura.

_Himura_.

Had he been a practical man he would have done as other men of the Bakumatsu had, donning and discarding identities at will, before settling at last on a virgin name with which to walk forth into the new era. But it had been willfulness on his part, that same passionate willfulness that had had so infuriated his master and driven him into the madness, which had compelled him to keep the first family name he had received. However received, a family name for all men rich and poor, samurai and peasant– that had been the first promise of the Meiji given and fulfilled, and he clung to the hope of further promises kept, to ease his heart over how terribly well he had executed his own part of their covenant.

Himura– who had loved and been loved.

He bowed his bright head and began to walk, the packed dirt crunching with each step. Experience gleaned from many long marches kept his pace relaxed but steady, while his thoughts whirled in a mind ever searching.

He welcomed the emptiness of the road, the end of which he could not see even as he was blind to the years that stretched long before him. At last he could begin to seek atonement for his sins as hitokiri though where the answer lay was yet unknown to him. He was uncertain even of what he asked and wryly he acknowledged that perhaps he sought it just as he had once sought happiness, without truly comprehending the nature of his desire. Nonetheless, he needed to find that atonement, whatever it might truly be.

In this new era he would set his feet free to wander, guided only by a heartfelt promise, the stars, and the obscure path that the gods delighted in laying out before poor muddled men. Three lifetimes past and if he had to atone for three lifetimes more then so it had to be. He was but eighteen. Time held little meaning for him.

He crested the gentle rise and glanced ahead where the road wound its way through a grove of graceful trees. Branches hung still and heavy with white blossoms just bursting into full bloom. Against the blue sky they lay like clouds or snowdrifts trapped to the earth, pure and innocent and marred only by the little black shadows of the sparrows darting amongst the white.

He sniffed the cool freshness of the morning with pleasure, savoring the scents that drove away the dark memories of the battlefield's stench and sound. The sweetness of the air, the crunching of clean, honest soil– such small happinesses–

He drew in another breath, then his nostrils flared at the first delicate flicker in the air. His eyes dulled as he gazed closely at the trees beneath which he now stood.

White plum­.

His eyes drifted shut, the scent teasing awake memories fainter than the early morning mist upon the lake near his master's home: her gentle voice, her cool hands, her grave dark eyes–

–her faint smile blotted by congealed blood–

He flinched, hunched small beneath the looming trees, breathing only lightly of the scented air.

In the battles of the past year he had blanked his mind to all but the fierce determination to see the end of it and begin his atonement. In these days of peace, however, he could no longer flee the simple, stark truth.

_She was the one who should have been here, savoring the beauty of the day and the promise of the new era_.

He had departed Otsu weighed with grief but hopeful, her memory a warm ember in his heart. He had continued to hope into the grim years toiling as the Ishin Shishi's guardian swordsman and soldier but hope had grown more brittle each time he had tried to warm himself with her memory, to recall her gentle smile.

He had never seen it since. All that he had ever been able to see was that slight, terrible curve of her lips, which had not melted however desperately he had sought to warm her cold mouth.

Every time his recall failed his guilt surged, and stilled the hope in his heart, until at last he could not hear the latter over the former.

_She was the one who should have been here._

_Never forgiveness for such a terrible deed_, his guilt had whispered, hurrying his steps past her simple grave that cold day he had left her diary with the temple monks and had turned his back on Kyoto. _Never can you offer apologies enough to her spirit_.

He had fled then and never returned.

All his other crimes as hitokiri paled before this. Burdened as he was by the unforgivable, how would he ever be able to atone as he had sworn he would to her?

_Choose_, his guilt now hissed as he stood beneath the tall trees.

The simple beauties of the day forgotten, Himura Kenshin bowed to his guilt.

"Stubborn and selfish I am indeed," he whispered, "even as you have always told me, Master."

Better to betray her memory rather than betray his promise to her. Better never to see her smile again than to have only that last sight of her to hold. Better that some memories, however dear, be left behind, buried deep by distance and neglect, until his burden had lightened enough that he could freely bow before her grave and ask for the impossible.

Until then–

The world would know him as the nameless wanderer, the _rurouni_ with the backwards blade who belonged to no one, not even to himself– a man out of time.

He was eighteen. Time had no meaning to him.

But stubborn, selfish fellow that he was, he _would_ hold fast to one secret memory for himself: Himura, who had loved and been loved.

He lowered his head, shielding his eyes, and strode forth once more along the road beneath the trees, heedless to the quiet stirring of the branches and the gentle, grieving rustling as he passed; heedless to the pale petals that shook free and drifted thickly about his shoulders and tucked into his collar, patted about his hair and nestled softly against his wounded cheek; heedless to the wind that kissed the sweet scent of white plum against his skin, cloaking him in its fragrant embrace long after the trees had faded in sight and memory behind him.

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**Author's notes**: Takasugi Shinsaku was a warrior, poet, and musician. Sadly I am none of the above. Nonetheless the poem is written in the form of a tanka, a 31 syllable free verse that follows the pattern 5/7/5/7/7. The tanka was the predominant form of Japanese poetry from the Heian period into the Meiji until supplanted by the haiku, which was derived from the tanka.

"Kyosuke" is Yamagata Kyosuke, who later changed his name (didn't they all?) to Yamagata Aritomo and went on to a rather illustrious career in Japanese politics.


	2. To dream of silk

**Disclaimer**: Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, Viz, LLC, etc own Rurouni Kenshin. The following is a work of fiction intended only for entertainment and reflects the author's admiration for the remarkable world of our favorite wanderer. Any resemblance to actual historical characters is incidental.

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Kaoru dabbled at her reflection in the puddle and giggled. She leaped up and danced along the road, far too excited to hold herself to a walk.

After the quiet years of waiting the whirlwind of activity during the past month had been overwhelming. For the first time in a long while her mother's thin face had been pink and smiling as she had tended the house with unwonted energy and had chased Kaoru away from one potential domestic disaster after another. Undaunted, the little girl had dogged the footsteps of the students who had come back to sweep and scrub the long-silent _dojo_, and had issued orders in her shrill little voice as she had brandished her miniature _shinai_. In spite of her help the _dojo_ was now spotless and gleaming as it waited for its beloved master to set foot in it once more.

Kaoru turned her face up to the sunlight, eyes squeezed against the brightness as she smiled. Papa was home at last!

When she had first seen him the week before she had blinked in some uncertainty at the big man with the grim face and gentle eyes who had been gone almost a third her life. At the first deep rumble of his voice she had remembered, and had flung herself at him with a happy cry, to be rewarded by the rumble of his familiar laugh as he had tossed his tiny daughter into the air.

Her father had not laughed so freely since. Kaoru frowned but then shook her head. His hands and voice were as gentle as ever and, more importantly, her mother was still smiling. Everything would be all right.

Her ponytail bobbed as she trotted down the street and tried to look at everything at once. Her parents strolled behind at a gentle pace, bowing and exchanging brief pleasantries with passersby. It was the first time in many weeks that her mother had felt well enough for a visit to the town and the first time that her father had ventured out since his return. They were a striking pair- the big man, the small delicate woman- and whenever Kaoru glanced back she saw her father touch her mother's arm in a light gesture that made her mother blush and smile.

Kaoru grinned. Such a perfect day!

"Kaoru-_chan_, be careful crossing the bridge," her mother called.

"I will, Mama!" Kaoru cried as she ran toward the bridge. She hopped onto the sun-drenched span and giggled as the breeze tugged at her hair. Skipping up the expanse, she caught a bright flicker of red from the corner of her eye; her curiosity roused, she turned to stare.

And was enthralled.

The golden sunlight poured upon a young woman clad in an elaborate pale green kimono who twirled her sunshade as she stood with friends at the crest of the bridge. Her fluttering sleeves were almost outrageously long and lined with a deep scarlet that beckoned even while coyly hiding from view.

_Oooh, red!_

"Shameless girl. Look at that dress, displaying her neck like that. I hear her father is driven distracted by her flirtatious ways."

Kaoru heard her father's disapproving murmur as her parents drew near but only faintly caught her mother's mirthful reply- "_Which_ shameless girl, my dear?"- as she scampered away. She darted between bodies until her vision was filled with pale green brocade and the tantalizing flickers of shining scarlet just beyond the reach of eager little fingers. The tiny tugs on her sleeve did not escape the attention of the girl in green or that of her amused companions.

"Aimi-_chan_, you've caught the wrong flavor of fish!"

"Cute but far too little for keeping."

An errant gust flapped the sleeve against Kaoru's face. She laughed and clapped her hands. "Pretty!"

"So you like red silk too?" Smiling, the girl flicked back her sleeve to expose a wider swath of the lining. Kaoru sighed in delight as she carefully petted the smooth fabric- so cool beneath her fingertips it almost burned.

"Come, Kaoru-_chan_, you've disturbed Sasaki-_san_ enough." Her mother had reached them and with a softly apologetic smile and bow urged her daughter across the bridge to where her frowning father stood.

Kaoru reluctantly bobbed a bow and followed but craned her neck back for one last look. "Sasaki-_san_!" she chirped. "Pretty!" The young woman laughed and waved.

When they reached her father Kaoru flung herself against his knees. "Papa! Did you see? I want red silk sleeves too!"

"Oh, dear," her mother murmured, hiding her smile behind her fingers, while Kaoru observed her father's peculiar expressions with interest.

"My daughter will not wear red sleeves in public," he grunted at last.

Kaoru scowled and her mother prudently intervened. "Husband, a moment. Come with me, child."

Kaoru clutched her mother's hand as they made their way to a booth selling sweets. Her mother selected a small stick of dango dipped in sweet bean paste and handed it to her before leading her to a nearby bench.

"Your papa is a very good papa, Kaoru-_chan_," she murmured, settling herself with a tired sigh, "but, like most fathers, he doesn't understand some dreams. That's a secret for mothers and daughters to share."

Kaoru licked the sweet bean paste off her dango and nodded at the wisdom of her mother's words. Fathers, even her wonderful papa, were no doubt at times almost like boys: stupid.

"Red silk is very special, yes?" Her mother smiled and smoothed her hair when Kaoru nodded vigorously. "But not the sleeves. They aren't quite right and special things must be just for you.

"Mm, shall I tell you a secret? I had always dreamed of a red silk kimono for my wedding to your father but knew it would be far too dear. Imagine my delight when somehow my mother managed that my _obi_ at least matched my dream. I have always been grateful to her for that one bit of magic."

"Where is it?" Kaoru demanded, caught by her mother's wistful smile.

"Long gone, for it had become faded and fragile. But it doesn't matter- here, in my memories, it remains exactly as it was my wedding day. And that is all I need.

"As for you- it's a good dream for some day, but for now you are still too young. Not yet." Her finger stopped the wail trembling on Kaoru's lips. "But hold fast to your dreams, my darling girl. They may change but if they are real and true they cannot die and one day- one perfect day- I promise you will have your red silk."

"But today is a perfect day!" Kaoru protested, waving her dango in the air.

"How young you are. Still too young-" Her mother's smile faltered and she sighed.

"For me, it _has_ been a perfect day: together with my husband and daughter, on a morning so golden it stings tears from the eyes, when the air dances and red silk waves to delight a little girl." Her mother closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun. "A day to remember when the heart is old or forgetful of the joys of childhood."

Kaoru fidgeted, feeling that her mother had half-forgotten her. "Don't like waiting," she mumbled about a mouthful of dango.

Her mother smiled. "A good dream is worth waiting for." She gazed at the booth where Kaoru's father stood examining some woodcut prints and whispered, "However impossible it may seem or however long it may take- or however lonely the wait may be."

Kaoru paused in nibbling her treat, sensing rather than hearing the sudden sadness in her mother's voice. "Mama?" She gasped and almost dropped her sweet when her mother suddenly caught her by the chin and tilted her face up. She blinked at the tense set of her mother's mouth.

"Promise your mother, Kaoru- our secret…"

"Mama…"

"No matter what- above all else- help your father find _his_ dream."

Kaoru stared, transfixed by the ferocity in her mother's usually gentle eyes.

"He lost so much of himself during the war and I fear for him when I- well, in time he will need you very much."

Her mother rarely made her promise but when she did she expected Kaoru to keep her word. Kaoru hesitated, a little frightened and confused at the intensity of her mother's words, but then slowly nodded.

"I promise."

Her mother sighed and managed a faint smile before brushing a kiss across her forehead. "My good girl. Come, finish your sweet and let's go meet your father."

Kaoru stared at her father when they joined him, searching his face for any hint of what her mother had spoken. But he seemed just as her childish memories had recalled, the gentle smile he gave her when he caught her stare leaving her feeling safe and protected as always. She reached for his big hand, nuzzling her cheek against its warmth.

"Kamiya-_sensei!_"

Kaoru squeaked as her father's hand tightened painfully around hers for a moment. With a muttered imprecation he gently disengaged his hand and straightened, his face shuttered.

A young boy, a handful of years older than Kaoru, dashed up to them. With a quick bow to Kaoru's mother he turned to the big silent man.

"_Sensei!_ Welcome home!" The boy bobbed low before leaping up with a huge grin on his face. "We missed you! When will you be re-opening the _dojo?_ All of us are impatient to start again after almost three years."

Her father nodded at the boy. "Not just yet, Hiroyuki-_kun_," he replied after an awkward silence. "I wish to take a rest from teaching the sword for a while."

"My father said that is what you did in the war, _sensei._ I bet you were the best! I-"

"Hiro-_kun_, there will be plenty of time to talk more later," Kaoru's mother interposed when her father said nothing. "Besides, I am sure Kaoru-_chan_ isn't interested."

"I like fighting too!" Kaoru cried, insulted.

"Kaoru-_chan_ may look just like a pretty little doll but she is as tough as a Tokyo alley rat," Hiro agreed cheerfully, pulling at Kaoru's ponytail.

"Not a rat!" Kaoru shrieked. "And you can't call me a doll!" She swung at the older boy with both tiny fists. She missed with the first and found her other hand caught in the midst of the swing. Her father simply shook his head at her, keeping her hand clasped between both of his.

Hiro bowed to his former teacher and his wife. "I will wait for the re-opening of the dojo whenever you will, Kamiya-_sensei_." As he turned to rejoin his friends he grinned down at the angry little girl. "Until later, little doll."

Kaoru glared at his retreating back. Hiro had no right! She peeped at her mother. It had been _their_ cherished secret during the years they had awaited her father's return. While she liked chasing the students and swatting their ankles with her _shinai_ she also liked being her mother's favorite little doll, to play with pretty clothes and manners and housekeeping. Hiro wouldn't understand; everyone knew boys were stupid.

Suddenly recalling Hiro's words she looked up at her father. "Won't you teach anymore, Papa?"

"We will see, Kaoru-_chan_." Her father's smile was fleeting and her mother wordlessly laid her hand on his arm. He covered that small hand with his own much larger one but made no other acknowledgement. "Come, we have not yet seen the market."

- - - - -

That night Kaoru could not sleep, disturbed by the strange passages of the day that had continued even once they had returned home. Dinner had been quiet, marked by the somberness of her father's mood, and her mother, face pale and exhausted, had retired soon after.

Faint mutterings from outside her room caught her attention. Flinging aside her blanket she padded to the _shoji_ and pushed it aside. The sounds were louder out in the hall and coming from the direction of her parents' room. Disjointed as they were, they made her feel oddly distressed. Despite her mother's stern admonishments against wandering the hall at night her curiosity drove her forward.

A dim glow shone through the paper walls as she crept to the partially open _shoji_ of her parents' room. Crouching down she peeked through the gap.

The lantern light gilded the length of her mother's unbound hair as she knelt upon the futon, her husband clasped close in her arms. Her cheek rested upon his head as it lay against her breast, and Kaoru glimpsed the glint of tears that trembled beneath closed eyes. Her father's shoulders shook with each muffled sob and the little girl at last could hear the words that had disturbed her.

"Never again. Never again."

"Be at ease, beloved," her mother soothed. "It is over now. The war is over and you are home."

"Never over," he groaned. "I have always been a teacher and now that is cursed. I cannot walk into my _dojo_ without seeing what I have created these past years, what I will only be able to produce from now on- killers all. I cannot. Never again."

"Your students are strong and faithful and honor you. They will not so easily be led down the wrong path or let you stray. These are the times of peace, beloved. Let the war go."

Heedless to her pleas he continued to mutter. "Such young faces- such bright eyes. In my dreams they glow at first as brightly as the stars. But as soon as I touch them they turn darker and harder than charcoal and then burst into hot red flames. The stench…

"My students- I cannot bear to look into their eyes- into Kaoru's eyes- and see them change as they discover what I can show them to be." His hoarse voice grew bitter. "And I will teach them to wield well the bloody blade, wife. I am a good teacher, after all."

"Hush, hush! Husband, you told me once that _kenjutsu_ was a living, changing thing that was a mirror of the heart. Your heart is so good, I cannot believe that evil would ever come of it." Her mother's voice shook.

"Good? What good left in this black heart of mine? _Kenjutsu_ will indeed mirror it- I would not ever have you see that. Not with you so frail…"

Kaoru could bear no more and fled to the comfort of her own little futon. Burrowing beneath her blanket she whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut. Her father was as strong as a mountain! Terror of whatever could have made him weep kept her awake long into the night.

She was pale and fretful from lack of sleep the next morning but her parents did not comment, save when her mother looked at her sternly and said, "No more wandering the halls at night, Kaoru. Stay in your room."

From then it seemed to Kaoru that a haze of sorrow settled over their house. Night after night she huddled in her futon, lulled to teary sleep by the haunting murmur of indistinct sobs and whispers. Each day she peeped into her father's study and watched him kneeling in contemplation, still as a statue, with eyes closed as surely as were the _dojo_ doors. And each day she watched her mother grow thinner and paler, the brief bright glow she had worn since her husband's return fading swiftly.

She did her best to help. She marched before her father waving her little _shinai_ in the simple _kata_ that he had so patiently taught her before he had left. She stitched ugly little gifts that even she could not really identify and drove her mother distracted with her forays in the kitchen. During the days at least, her parents smiled and the gloom lifted.

- - - - -

Time passed, nudging Kaoru along at the eager pace of childhood while puddling lazily about the _dojo_, which remained empty as her father continued to contemplate in silence. But the passing wore relentlessly at Kaoru's mother, draining her vitality and sweeping her away ever faster from her family. Though she never again walked out of the house nothing they did could keep her at home and one spring day, as the earth grew warm and green, Kaoru's father carried his bitterly crying daughter back to their empty house.

Remembrances of red silk shared on a golden day warmed her during the nights but Kaoru clung to her father during the following tear-soaked days. He comforted her with gentle hands while guarding his own grief so well she marveled at his strength. Yet she was still stunned one morning when she found the _dojo_'s doors thrown open and her father working with his _bokken_.

He gazed at her with his usual warm smile but with bleakness in his dark eyes. "It is time," he said simply. He nodded when she stared at him blankly. "This _dojo_ must be reborn, free of the darkened style of my fathers." He sighed. "I have thought for so long on this but still…"

Her father's style, handed down from his father, his father's father, and onward for generations, was now no more? Give up the school in which he had had such pride and happiness? She sniffled, suddenly very sad for him.

"No more tears, Kaoru-_chan_," he said. "Your mother believed in me. I must do so as well." His fist clenched upon his chest. "It must come from here, Kaoru- Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu, my 'Revitalized Heart'."

Kaoru blinked, rolling the unfamiliar name across her tongue. "Does your heart hurt, papa?"

He smiled slightly. "A little. But in time it must heal. It must."

Kaoru heard her father murmur those words often in the weeks that followed. Each day she watched him endlessly repeat moves with his _bokken_ and then frown as he broke and stood in thought before beginning a new set. She sat in the corner of his study to play with her toys while he wrote and thought and sipped tea absently. She knew even during their meals, although he nodded and smiled at her childish prattle, his thoughts were in the _dojo_. More and more he immersed himself until it seemed he did not _see_ her anymore.

The news of the opened _dojo_ spread and his old students came back to persuade their _sensei_ to teach them. But her father stood firm.

"The school will not open until Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu is ready to be passed on- when I am worthy of teaching once more."

"But when will that be, _sensei_?"

"When the time is right."

Their fathers came as well- men with grave faces to whom her father listened with equal gravity while Kaoru peeped around the _dojo _doors.

"Kamiya-_san_, what is this?"

"The old school is no more. A better one must be born, from the heart, where _kenjutsu_ begins."

"Your fathers' school has been honored for generations! How can you shame them so?"

"They would understand."

"And what of your daughter? She is running wild and needs a mother. There are many kind women here who would be honored to be one to her."

"She has me! That is enough."

_But I don't_, Kaoru fumed as the men left them alone once more. Even though he was always with her every day she could feel her father slipping further away from her. Leaving her alone. She hated being alone.

After the visits her grim father redoubled his efforts to tame Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu; the _dojo_, which had lain silent so long, now never seemed empty. But for Kaoru there was also none of the joy that she remembered. In a fit of temper she threw her _shinai_ into the river and refused to practice anymore but her father did not reprimand her. Kaoru sulked into her _miso_ for days afterwards.

One morning her father did not appear for breakfast and the kindly old woman who came in to help only sighed and pointed to the _dojo_ when Kaoru inquired. With trepidation the young girl padded to the doors and peered inside.

Her father was not practicing. He knelt in the center of the room, head bowed low.

"Forgive me my pride," she heard him whisper. "Prideful to think I could remake this into something good after being the one to bring it to ruin." He sighed and raised his head.

"Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu refuses to be as I know it can be. It is still a killer's tool. Ah, beloved- this mirror is still dark and warped. Will it ever shine?"

Kaoru bit her lip to suppress her whimper when she caught sight of his face. Her father's eyes were _dead_; Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu was consuming him.

He looked so alone. Just as she was herself.

Kaoru's heart ached. She wanted her father.

She wanted her mother.

She wanted a morning so golden it stung tears from the eyes, in which the air danced and roared and fantastic red silk soared free.

But dreams were as insubstantial as air and of no use in the here and now. She stared again at her father, thinking furiously. Her father obviously needed her just as her mother had said he would.

But what was she to do? How could she help her father smile again?

_Silly girl, Papa is a teacher. Papa **loves** to teach!_

_But I hate Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu!_

_You promised. _

Yes, she had promised, and Kamiya Kaoru kept her promises. She shoved the _shoji_ aside and ran into the _dojo_, throwing herself onto her startled father's lap.

"Papa, teach me!"

"Kaoru-_chan_? What is this?"

"I want to learn Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu!" Kaoru nodded her head fiercely, setting her little ponytail bobbing.

Her father blinked and for the first time in a long while Kaoru knew he at last _saw_ her as he searched her face. She braved the scrutiny even when he stared hard into her eyes, and was rewarded by the easing of the tension from his muscles as he raised his trembling hand and rested it on her head. "Very well, my little one. I will teach you."

- - - - -

Kaoru found her short-lived resentment of her father's obsession dissolving completely in the face of the growing brightness in his eyes as his dream at last began to take shape. Under his tutelage she found her joy again and above all she saw him rediscover his love of _kenjutsu_ and his role as _sensei_. Though eyebrows were raised, amongst some grumbling, as it became known that the Kamiya _dojo_'s only student was a little girl, they became a familiar sight around the town- the little student, struggling with _bokken_ almost taller than herself, trotting at the heels of the eccentric _sensei_ of the Kamiya _dojo_ as he traveled between _dojo_ once more teaching basic sword skills.

Kaoru exulted as her father's heart slowly healed. Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu was selfish and insistent but it faced its equal in her. Her papa's heart was fragile and Kaoru was fiercely protective of all that she considered hers.

However, keeping the heart beating demanded a price.

It was too much, that improbable, immense dream of his. The more Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu grew the more it demanded, and for her father's sake Kaoru had to give, until it was all that filled her world. For a while she tried to hold her dreams but one by one she had to bid them farewell and set them free, perhaps to be recalled as dimly pleasant memories on a far off day.

Her vision of red silk -the silliest, most frivolous, and cherished link to her mother- was the last to go. With some tears but more resolution she locked it away, buried deeply by the realities of _bokken_ and bruises, calluses and long hours in a lantern-lit hall.

- - - - -

As she grew older she truly understood what her child's heart had so easily grasped- that her father's dream had to become theirs and only between them could the teacher tame his vision.

Not that either Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu or Kaoru ever grew docile. There were many slow days of frustration as well, and one afternoon, after a fractious lesson interrupted by much whining, her father set his _bokken_ on the wall and smiled ruefully down at her. "Enough, Kaoru-_chan_. The sun is warm. Let us go for a walk."

She bowed and carefully replaced her _shinai_ on its rack before racing out of the _dojo_. Her temper improved quickly as they meandered down to the riverbank and her chatter floated in the air behind them. Her father rarely spoke but smiled as he watched her rummage amongst the flowers and chase the butterflies with bright eyes and even brighter smiles. They returned home with the setting sun, at peace with each other and themselves.

From then on Kaoru's father always ensured he devoted some time solely to his daughter away from the _dojo_, even after he finally deemed it time to open the doors to other students. Kaoru never realized how much of Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu was born of these simple moments of love and peace.

Once, struggling with a complicated set of strokes, she asked her father a question that had long troubled her. "Papa, can Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu kill?"

Her father laid down the sword he was polishing and glanced at her. "Yes," he answered slowly, "in skilled hands a _bokken_ can be as deadly as a sword. It all lies in one's intent, and the line that separates one's choices is a narrow one."

Kaoru bit her lip. "Will you be teaching me to kill, then, papa?"

Her father shook his head. "It is easy to kill, my Kaoru," he replied, "but the easy path is not always the right way." He picked up his swords and set them back in their stand. "How wonderful a world in which all seek to protect life."

He smiled at her then and she never asked him again.

- - - - -

Kaoru gaped at her father as he stood at the open doors of the _dojo_. "F-Father! We are such a small _dojo_. How can Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu spread over the whole country?" She finished wiping the floor and rose.

He laughed and gestured to the courtyard. "This is the age of Meiji. Perhaps the dream will never come true but I will never cease to seek it. Yes, we are small, but some day others will understand and embrace our teachings.

"I heard of a man during the war who was famed for being able to fight as one against many. Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu must do more- it must be the one that _becomes_ many."

Kaoru blinked. "Such a great dream." She laughed and flexed her arm. "You can count on me, Father!"

He smiled, eyes warm with affection. "I know that I can for all that you are still so tiny, like your mother."

Kaoru tossed her head, her long ponytail flicking back. "I can beat everyone else in the _dojo_," she boasted. "I grew up with Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu and know it better than anyone else other than you."

Her father frowned and shook his head. "You must know yourself even better, Kaoru, both your strengths and weaknesses. In size and strength you cannot compete and therefore are not meant to go forth alone. Moreover, have I not always taught you that our style thrives when shared? If you would be the teacher that I know you can be, remember. Be humble. In any other way lies arrogance and then Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu will surely fail you."

Abashed, Kaoru nodded. "I'll remember, Father."

- - - - -

Kaoru licked away her tears as she stood in the middle of the _dojo_. She wanted nothing more than to huddle in her room to cry until she was wrung dry but she could not afford the release. The students would be here soon and they would be watching her, judging her father's legacy by the heir he left behind. This brief bout of tears was all she could allow herself to indulge in.

She whimpered and sniffed for some moments more, then fiercely scrubbed away the last of her tears.

_Besides, mother has waited a long time. They are together once more._

Bowing to the shrine where her father's swords lay, she straightened and raised her _bokken_ as she set herself in position. Her first stroke was sharp and sure.

Now the dream was hers alone.

- - - - -

Once she had been called a Tokyo alley rat; if not for the righteous anger driving her she would have laughed as she prowled the dark streets. Instead, she swore as she stepped in something noxious. Shaking her foot in disgust she continued her patrol.

There were few traces left of her mother's favorite little doll. She knew she was a vulgar tomboy with a quick temper and quicker fist. Only a taste for pretty kimono and the ability to demonstrate proper manners when necessary saved her from complete social disgrace. Not that she cared unduly. Her neighbors liked her well enough, and more importantly, she was respected amongst the other _dojo_ masters. It was not exactly an easy life, and it was a little lonely, but she was the assistant master of the Kamiya _dojo_ and she would be _damned_ if she tamely let some fraud chase her students away and ruin her father's legacy.

Scowling, she quickened her steps. A small figure moved in the gloom ahead of her.

_In size and strength you cannot compete and therefore are not meant to go forth alone. Moreover, have I not always taught you that our style thrives when shared? If you would be the teacher that I know you can be, remember. Be humble. In any other way lies arrogance and then Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu will surely fail you._

She almost forgot. But Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu did not forsake her. Even as it failed her in her quest against the false Battousai, it led her to one who, although a stranger to her school, truly understood its teachings in his heart. With him she would never again be alone.

- - - - -

Kaoru followed Kenshin along the path towards the village, her sedate demeanor belying the happy mood that matched the spectacularly beautiful spring day.

Life was wonderful. The two students who had joined the week previously were doing well- new students at last, with the definite possibilities of more. Yahiko was progressing even faster than before. Unfortunately he knew it, the precocious brat, and he was becoming impossible to live with. She grinned to herself. It seemed a letter to Germany might be in order soon.

She sighed happily. Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu was still a small shoot but it looked at last to have spread strong roots. It would endure.

She had done it. Her father would have been so proud. Her mother would have been so happy.

And she had Kenshin. Her eyes rested affectionately on his back and joy bubbled within her but she sternly repressed it. She was grown up, after all.

They stepped onto the bridge and Kaoru caught at her hair as the stiff breeze threatened to escape with her ribbon. "Oh!" Another strong gust sent her staggering.

"Are you all right, Kaoru-_dono?_" A strong hand under her arm steadied her.

"Yes. Thanks, Kenshin." She smiled sunnily up at him. His response- a slow deepening of his usual amiable grin- lit a fluttering warmth within her and left her blushing.

Kenshin chuckled and released her arm, his fingers squeezing hers before falling away. She huffed in disappointment. A pity her sleeves were now so short, otherwise perhaps they could have discreetly held hands…

_Behave_! Kaoru scolded herself. She was a sober married lady now and had to act as such in public. She giggled and blushed again. Marriage really _was _rather nice, though.

Composing herself, she smoothed her maligned sleeve. To mark her new status she had cut down the sleeves of her kimonos since the garments were far too expensive to replace and she refused to give up the bright colors she liked. She sighed; she would miss the long sleeves of her girlhood, though.

Sleeves…

Sleeves?

Her brows drew together and her steps slowed.

-_sun and wind_-

The day grew still and slow as she gazed up at the crest of the bridge, searching-

-half-expecting a fabulous creature twirling a sunshade in a sea of pale green brocade, while a tall man and his dainty companion strolled past-

-and finding Kenshin leaning against the railing of the sun-splashed bridge as he gazed down into the water and absently pushed back stray strands that blew in his eyes.

Sound and _color_ flooded her senses once more.

_Dreams may change but they neither fade nor die if you do not wish them to._

Running across the bridge to his side, heedless of the surprised people she slipped past, she reached up and plucked away Kenshin's hair tie.

"Oro?" Kenshin yelped, his voice muffled by the scarlet mass that instantly fought free.

_A day to remember when the heart is forgetful of the joys of childhood._

"Kenshin!" She threw her arms tightly about his neck and buried her face in his swirling hair- so cool against her cheeks it almost burned.

"Oro!" Kenshin wheezed. Unable to see clearly and thrown off-balance he caught Kaoru about her waist. He blushed and grinned sheepishly at passersby before hissing, "Kaoru-_dono_, not_ here_!"

"Oh? Oh!" Kaoru's own face glowed and she stumbled back. Embarrassment was forgotten once more, however, as she looked at her wind-tousled spouse struggling to tame what she had released.

- _a morning so golden it stung tears from the eyes, in which the air danced and roared and red silk soared free_-

Her eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands and laughed, her laughter lit with the joyous echo of childhood. "Himura-_san_!" she sang. "Pretty!"

"Himura-_san_?" Kenshin, clawing at the hair before his eyes without success, peered incredulously at his wife. "_Pretty_?"

Kaoru only continued to laugh. The wind tangled her own dark tresses across her face, and her eyes blurred with tears, but as clearly as before she savored the sunlight setting sparks to the long-awaited, beloved red silk streaming through the air.

A dream worth waiting for.

* * *

****

- - - - 2 - - - -

"Come, Tomoe-_chan_, welcome your guest." Yukishiro Yoshio smiled as he drew his little daughter forward to face the older boy. "Make your best bow to Kiyosato Akira."

The two children, after staring at each other for a few moments, bowed.

"Akira-_kun_ will be visiting us for a few hours so show him the garden. Mind you don't stay out too long, though, it is rather chilly still so early in the morning."

"Yes, Papa," Tomoe murmured and bowed. Glancing at Akira she led the way through the house to the enclosed garden.

She continued to cast discreet glances at her companion as they meandered along the mossy path. He was some years older than she, already gaining lines of maturity on his face and form. She admired his fine appearance as he looked about the well-tended garden with interest. He caught her furtive looks and smiled back.

"I am very pleased to meet you at last, Tomoe-_chan_. My mother said it was time I did since she enjoys your company every time she visits Yukishiro-_san_."

"Fukino-_san_ is nice," Tomoe answered softly. "She always brings me something sweet to eat."

Akira grinned. "Mother likes to eat sweets herself and always feels guilty about eating alone. Don't tell her I told you so!"

Tomoe nodded. "I won't." She liked his mother very much. The lady had also thoughtfully given her a little book in which she could write everything in her heart. She liked practicing her characters, finding it much easier to speak freely to the pages than to other people.

They reached a thick hedge and Akira stopped before a perfectly formed web, heavily beaded with dew and glistening in the sunlight. Despite the coolness of the morning a tiny spider crawled along the fine strands, searching out the untidy ends of broken threads and repairing the damage.

"Look, Tomoe-_chan_," the boy whispered. "Isn't it splendid?"

His little companion obediently followed his gaze but recoiled with a small sound of distress.

"What's wrong?" he cried.

"I don't like spiders- they scare me."

Akira glanced the small spider. "But why? Don't you know that spiders are very wise?"

Tomoe blinked at him in surprise and he nodded with a serious look. "Oh, yes. Why, a busy spider means that you will be expecting a guest, and just look how busy this one already has been."

Tomoe pondered his words and then opened her eyes wide. "And now you are here!" she breathed, studying the spider with dawning awe.

"And I am here," he agreed, smiling. "Let me tell you a story! Once my sister was crying about how afraid she was of spiders and how she wished they would go away. My mother told her that spiders were great friends to brides, and a wise bride should treat the spiders with great respect so that they would provide fine white silk spun of wishes to finish her wedding outfit. So you mustn't ever be afraid of spiders again and must always treat them gently and well."

Tomoe nodded. Glancing back at the great shining web she stretched out a delicate finger.

"Ah, no, don't touch!" Gently Akira caught her hand and squeezed it. "It's not yet time. You aren't a bride yet!"

Tomoe stared down at their hands and blushed. "Akira-_san_?"

Akira colored as well, for the first time looking a little shy. He dropped her hand and, rubbing his head, mumbled, "You are very pretty, Tomoe-_chan_."

Tomoe blinked, her small pink mouth forming a perfect 'O'.

Akira grinned a little. "Um, I would like to marry you someday, I think, Tomoe-_chan_. Will you like that?"

Tomoe clasped her hands in front of her and dropped her gaze to her toes. "Akira-_sama_…" she whispered.

Laughing, he caught her hand again and tugged her after him. They ran through the dew-dampened grasses until their _tabi_ were soaked and their toes were blue from the chill. Akira grinned at Tomoe, whose black eyes glowed above creamy cheeks flushed pink.

The sun shone down, lighting little fires in the droplets that jeweled the web where the little spider busily sat spinning its fine silk cloth. As Tomoe followed Akira into the house she thought that she had never seen so sunny a day before, and that she had never had so many wonderful things to write.

- - - -

Tomoe knelt beside her father. At his questioning look she drew the hairpin from her sleeve and held it out to him.

Her father's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "I am very happy for you, Tomoe-_chan_. Akira-_kun_ is a fine man."

She nodded. "Thank you, father."

"I suppose I have to start worrying about when I shall lose you to your own household," her father mused. "And I suppose that was Enishi howling a little while ago?"

Guiltily Tomoe nodded again. "I'm sorry for the disturbance. Enishi- wasn't very happy to hear about Akira-_sama_."

Her father sighed. "My dear, don't apologize. You have done wonders with the boy, whereas I find him completely baffling. But he will get over it, he always does." He sighed again. "So when do you wish to hold the wedding?"

"Will you mind if it is next month, father?" Tomoe murmured. "Akira-_sama_ does not wish to wait long."

Her father smiled a little wistfully. "Truly so soon as that? Very well, my dearest daughter. Happily the harvest has been good this year so funds shouldn't be a problem- it will be a fine wedding for the most beautiful girl in the district next month!"

- - - - -

The house had not seen such a bustle in a long time, certainly not in the quiet years since the passing of the lady of the house. The much-anticipated wedding of the lady's daughter, even if it had been unexpectedly postponed for an indefinite time, had shaken life back into the household.

Tomoe's room was crowded with women- neighbors, friends, servants. Tomoe stood demurely in the midst of the noisy tumult, docilely submitting to being poked and turned and prodded. Her hair was formally dressed and adorned with small artificial flowers; Akira's pin glittered atop the ebony locks. Several women held a shimmering length of white silk around her, tugging and tucking according to the advice of the others in the room.

"Tighter, ladies, tighter! Such a pity that the _obi_ will hide her pretty figure but certainly we can work around that." The woman who spoke wore a sly grin at odds with her elegant figure. "Akira-_san_ is a clever fellow with eyes to see and a head to dream with and no doubt he'll be most thankful for our resourcefulness."

The other women shrieked with laughter while Tomoe blushed.

"Haramatsu Satsuki-_san_!" an elderly lady chuckled. "Your years at the shogun's court have given you a wicked tongue."

"Bah!" Haramatsu Satsuki scoffed. "You would think out here in the country you would hear more frankness but men and women are more honest with each other at the shogun's court." She glanced again at the young bride-to-be. "Don't moon about, Tomoe-_chan_, your handsome young man will be home soon."

She grinned at Tomoe's flustered look. "Such a pretty color! Now, hurry, hurry, girls! Let's see what we can do for Akira-_san_."

The women rushed to comply and soon the silk was tucked around Tomoe. Silence hung in the room as the women gazed at the figure in white. A young girl finally sighed, "Such a beautiful bride you will be, Tomoe-_san_."

Murmurs of assent rose from the assembled women while an elderly serving woman held up a glass and Tomoe regarded her reflection in silence.

"Now all we need is the errant groom," Haramatsu Satsuki commented. She rolled her eyes. "The most gorgeous girl in the province waiting for him and he runs off to Kyoto!"

"Young men these days," another elderly lady snorted. "With their wild talk and mad fancies-" She broke off as Tomoe beckoned to a servant and bowed to her guests.

"Thank you all very much for your help. You must be tired. Please, enjoy something to eat and drink."

Servants soon arrived with hot tea and snacks. As Tomoe was relieved of her finery the guests lingered over the delicious refreshments and gossip, not departing until late afternoon. Haramatsu Satsuki was the last and beckoned to Tomoe.

"You are a good, kind girl, Tomoe-_chan_," the older woman said. "But far too well-mannered. You should tell that boy quite firmly that he is an idiot for postponing the wedding and bolting for _Kyoto_, of all places."

Tomoe stifled a sigh. Although she was fond of their neighbor she nonetheless sometimes found her ascerbic tongue a trial. "Akira-_sama_ is a very noble and brave man, Haramatsu-_san_," she replied, a slight edge in her gentle voice. "He has ambition and plans for our future."

"So the little cat does have claws? Good girl!" Haramatsu Satsuki grinned and patted the girl's cheek. "All right, a better idea. Why don't you go pick out a poem from that collection I gave you and send it to Akira-_kun_? Those women knew how to spin a passionate phrase and that should keep him warm for the next few months." She waved her hand and turned to leave. "No need to see me out. I rather fancy a little talk with your esteemed father for awhile."

Tomoe, alone at last, took a deep breath. Blinking rapidly, she padded towards the _shoji_ leading to the garden. She slipped outside and strolled over the mossy stones.

Her thoughts turned to the collection of poetry penned by long-dead women that Haramatsu-_san_ had given her. Her neighbor's advice had scarcely been needed. Tomoe had already chosen a poem from the collection, or perhaps it had chosen her. As she had browsed her attention had been captured by a short verse written by a Princess Satoshi.

_Tonight is the night_

_My young love will come to me:_

_Little bamboo crab_

_Spider's antics make it clear._

_Oh, very clear tonight._

Akira had had long since confessed to having fabricated the nonsense about brides and spiders but had had continued to tease her gently about the matter during their garden strolls. Although she had had rarely responded she had had always treasured the intimacy of the teasing. The princess' poem had immediately filled her with a wistful longing for those halcyon days and she had carefully copied the verse on a sheet of fine paper flushed the palest lavender. The little roll of paper, twisted about a sprig of dried white plum, lay hidden in her sleeve beside the hairpin. She could recite every word from memory.

_Tonight is the night_

_My young love will come to me_…

Her thoughts wound forth- Akira, his handsome face alight with pleasure, hastening to the moonlit garden where she waited-

She covered her mouth and looked down, the faint color staining her cheeks once more. Men and women often exchanged poetry and she was much more comfortable with the written word. Were she to send the poem to Akira, she knew within a handful of weeks he would be back by her side, and would never leave it again.

But- how forward of her!

She hurried back into the house and joined her father in his study. As she knelt beside him he peered at her over his spectacles.

"Ah, Tomoe-_chan_, Haramatsu-_san_ tells me that you have a message to send to Akira-_kun_. Give it to me and I can include it in the packet I am sending him." He grinned. "I even promise not to sneak a look at it."

Tomoe clasped her arms together, her fingers brushing over the little roll of paper in her sleeve.

"Tomoe-_chan_?" her father repeated.

She raised her head. In her usual gentle voice she said, "Please, father- send Akira-_sama_ my wishes for his continuing good health until we see him back in Edo."

"Of course, of course," her father murmured, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. "But… ah… Haramatsu-_san_ was so sure-"

"No, father." Tomoe bowed and rose gracefully. "Excuse me, please, I will bring you your tea."

That night, alone in her room, Tomoe began the usual ritual in which she indulged before retiring. The soft light of the lantern illuminated her writing desk as she laid out the little dish of water, the ink sticks, the ink stone, and her brushes beside her diary, each movement easy with the familiarity of long practice. She flicked back her sleeves before dribbling a few drops of water onto the ink stone. As always the rhythmic rasp of the ink stick as she rubbed it against the stone soothed her.

It took a long time to get the ink as dark as she preferred- thick and black to lay down dramatic, passionate strokes against the paper. Finally satisfied she set aside the ink stick and picked up her favorite writing brush.

_In Akira-_sama_'s latest letter he said he is happy with his new duties and has a generous master who will allow him to come home in a few months. Father and Haramatsu-_san_ teased me again but I did not mind. I am so happy to think I shall see him again soon, especially since Kyoto is so far from Edo. Perhaps I can also persuade him that our wedding does not need to be postponed any further. _

_Today we began work on my wedding attire. I think it should not take too long, I have so many willing helpers. I am so grateful to them._

She paused and smiled a little. She rewet her brush.

_Akira-_sama_, soon I shall be able to invite the spiders to begin their work too._

After she finished writing she cleaned the brush and laid it aside before picking up a much finer one. With great care she drew the brush through the ink until the brush tip was well inked and finely pointed. She began to draw tiny black spiders- laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing- along the border of the diary page.

- - - - -

Tomoe finished the diary entry. As she laid down her brush her hands trembled, spattering ink drops across the small writing desk. She drew a deep breath and laid her hands flat on the surface. After a moment she picked up the brush and calmly cleaned away the ink. She continued tidying until her writing desk and hands were spotless and everything was back in its place. Pushing back the desk she crawled to the corner of the room where several chests were stacked. With some effort she pulled the one she selected into the center of the room where the light was best.

She knelt before the polished black chest, her movements as graceful as the measures of a stately dance. She lifted away the top of the chest and gazed down at the snowy smoothness folded within the cedar-scented depths. The white silk hissed as she lifted out the kimono and smoothed it over her knees.

Slowly the fabric warmed beneath her gentle strokes. Her fingers caressed the fine embroidery and lingered on a half-finished crane that still trailed a thread from an outstretched wing before moving to trace along the unfinished sleeves and hems. Her questing touch brushed against the crane again and found it cold once more.

She re-folded the silk, matching the creases so that the garment lay once more in a pristine square, and replaced it in the chest. Reaching into her sleeve she withdrew a little twist of lavender-tinted paper wrapped around a dried sprig. She laid it on the silk. She reached into her sleeve one last time and drew forth her hairpin. She turned Akira's betrothal gift in her fingers and watched the delicate gold metalwork tremble with the movement. Carefully she nestled it into the silk beside the rolled paper before closing the chest once more and returning it to its corner. She crept over to the _shoji_ and slid it aside.

The day was sunny, the rising warmth coaxing the flowers into releasing their perfumes. Tomoe gazed out at the garden but made no move to venture outside. A small spider, grey with dust, busily laid a shining thread along the edge of the path below her. She did not spare it a glance as she knelt on the _tatami_, straight and still as the statues scattered amongst the greenery.

- - - - -

"Go in to her!"

"I am not very good at this. What am I to say, Haramatsu-_san_? I am only her father."

"Get her to talk, you old fool! I'm worried how that girl keeps things inside and the longer it goes on the worse it will get. It isn't healthy. Go! Go!"

Behind her the heated whispers ceased. The _shoji_ slid aside and she felt her father's familiar presence settle at her side. Once upon a time she would have welcomed his comforting warmth.

"Ah…Tomoe-_chan_?"

"Yes, father?"

"Tomoe-_chan_… ah… it is all right to grieve."

She knew. She very much wished to cry her grief to the heavens but her heart felt so still and dark, sodden like the undergrowth in the woods where the sun rarely visited. The sheer weight ground her into numbness.

"You are frightening your brother."

Enishi had cried and screamed enough for both of them. Strange how passionately he had responded, considering how he had disliked Akira-_sama_ so at first. But then, her dear little brother was a very emotional boy who reacted strongly to any upset in the household, particularly when she was involved. Her heart stirred a little at the thought of how lost he must feel without her there to comfort him but soon settled back into the familiar darkness. How numb she was. It was rather pleasant.

"Haramatsu-_san_ and I are worried about you."

Perhaps she should talk to Haramatsu-_san_, who, with her earthy bluntness and worldliness, would understand better the darkness than her kind, gentle father. But her mouth would not open and her feet would not move.

"Ah… you are young and so very pretty. There will be another fine young man, I'm sure."

_Oh, father- please…_

"Tomoe-_chan_, please- won't you cry?"

Not even in the privacy of her room, not even before her father. Not even to stop the man she loved from leaving her and meeting his death.

Her father's sigh stirred the hair at her temple. Together they sat in the deepening twilight, drawing no comfort from each other.

Nothing- she had _done_ nothing and never had, always content to wait patiently. She _had_ nothing.

But that wasn't entirely true, was it? _I know that Akira-sama was killed in Kyoto. Kyoto._

_KYOTO._

A single thread- fragile and insubstantial, but enough for her to grasp and to follow-

-for every thread had two ends.

"I am fine, father."

- - - - -

It made such an insignificant packet: a small amount of money, a few personal items, her writing tools, and her diary. The brief note she had left on the desk seemed almost as large.

Draping her shawl around her shoulders she took up the packet and padded quietly to the _shoji_. Once outside she slipped her feet into her _geta_ and listened.

Only the normal sounds of a sleeping household reached her.

She waited until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness before she moved, the night quickly swallowing the slender pale ghost in pursuit of a dream.

- - - - -

She nodded at the curt instructions, feeling no fear of these fierce men who loomed above her as she knelt on the filthy floor. Through all the months of searching, of gathering threads that broke and threads that held, the gods of luck had protected and guided her to this meeting- here, where her handful of threads had met. She had been certain of that after what she had so briefly sensed more than seen through the dusty window filmed with cobwebs.

_The dark outline of a watcher hanging from the roofline, pale eyes peering from a featureless face. The elongated shadow cast by the restless movement of long, seeking limbs as the creature scuttled away._

For the first time in months the sullen darkness stirred in her heart as she made her way back to her dingy room at the little inn. She stilled it, unwilling to disturb what lay beneath- something twisted and ugly that left her feeling unclean beyond simple dirt. Now was not the time for regrets.

Tonight, so near her goal, she felt a sort of detached peace settle within her; not happiness, but it would suffice. As she began her usual ritual of preparing her ink and brushes it was as if she observed a stranger at work. Abstractedly she regarded her hands: the long fingers rubbing the ink stick against the stone, picking up a brush, pulling back her sleeve.

The diary lay open before her. She studied it. A woman's book- nothing like the little journal given to her so long ago by Akira's mother and filled with her childish dreams. Sweet, innocent dreams.

Her last entry had been two days past- brief, the writing careless and without its usual grace. She turned to a fresh page and drew the first black slash against the paper. Too clumsy- she eased her wrist and the ink flowed smoothly once more, as it had not done in weeks. She watched her beautiful words glide down the page beneath each graceful sweep of the brush.

_Akira-_sama_, I have found the spiders again at last. They have agreed to finish my work_.

* * *

**A/N:** Tomoe's poem was written by a Princess Sotori (Sotoshi) some time in the 5th century and compiled in an anthology of poetry by women. "Little bamboo crab" refers to a spider, whose activities were considered good omens and to predict the arrival of a guest. It can be found at nonduality(dot)com. 

This chapter was meant to be a short, bittersweet pairing, but Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu and a certain cool beauty took control and turned it into this exploration of expiation, guilt, obsession and what our ties to those we love can drive us to do.

Tomoe's father's first name is made up, as is Akira's mother's family name. It's different from Akira's because the Western practice of taking the husband's name did not become common until later.

The meaning of Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu is taken from the RK entry in Wikipedia (quite a decent section).

Original inspirations? In Margaret Drabble's book The Red Queen (a novelization of a Korean Crown Princess' diary) she credits her childhood love for a red dress for allowing her to empathize with her protagonist's desire for a red silk skirt. I too adore red silk and when I saw a picture online of a late Meiji kimono with red lined sleeves it all tied together. As for the white silk, believe it or not, cobwebs I spotted on a chandelier gave rise to a mental image of a young Akira and Tomoe in a garden with a dew-spotted cobweb.


	3. Demons

**Disclaimer**: Rurouni Kenshin is owned by Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and Viz, LLC, _etc_. The following is a work of fiction intended only for entertainment and reflects the author's admiration for the remarkable world of our favorite wanderer. Oh, yes, any real resemblance to actual historical characters is incidental.

* * *

**

- - - - 1 - - - -

**

  


"A kiss, Midori! Oh, pretty Midori, with the sweet curves of a saké bottle–"

The other waitresses in the dingy little saké shop rolled their eyes but the serving girl Midori giggled behind her sleeve as she evaded the wandering hands of her admirer.

"Hey, Okita-_san_, recite your bad poetry to these curves and see what answer you get!" she chided with easy familiarity and thrust an opened jar of saké at him. With another titter she trotted away to serve the other patrons, all seated at a respectful distance.

Okita Souji slumped back in his seat with a sigh. He regarded the small jar for a moment and then shook it, quirking an eyebrow at the faint sloshing inside. He eyed his drinking companion and waggled the bottle again.

The other snorted over his cup. "Moron."

"Now, Saitou-_san_, don't deny me all my pleasures," Okita admonished, smiling as he rolled the bottle against his cheek. "Kyoto's lovely buds are worth spending a few free hours of a cold winter's night on. And we haven't even begun celebrating our promotions to leaders of Kondou-_sama_'s new units." He wrinkled his brow in thought. "Or have we?"

"Stop babbling, Okita-_kun_," Saitou drawled. "You can't be drunk- all you've been swallowing as usual is that watery tea. Now leave me to wring some enjoyment out of my saké. Your bad verse has already made it bitter."

"You make me sad– I thought it one of my better efforts." Okita sighed and sipped his maligned tea as he dropped the saké bottle amongst the empty ones scattered before Saitou.

"Moron. Go steal some decent poem if you want to indulge; that girl wouldn't know any better before you'd worked your way beneath her kimono a few times."

"Now, now, Saitou-_kun_, I am a well-bred man. I may woo another fellow's girl but I would never steal his poetry." Okita tapped his fingers thoughtfully upon the table, then grinned. "Well, maybe just this once?

"I want to hug you,

Such happiness to kiss you!

Throw wide the jade gate

As I ravish your red lips

And howl my joy to the moon."

  


He suddenly blushed and covered his face with his hand. "I can't believe I said that out loud. I'm going to kill that pervert Fujita for telling it to me the next time I see him."

Saitou snorted, frowning as if in deep thought. At last he nodded.

"Whether from Shishi or Shinsengumi," he pronounced, "shit stinks."

"Haha–yaaghh!" Okita clutched his mouth. "Damn you, Saitou, you made me bite my tongue!" He scowled as he wiped his lip. "I hate the taste of blood."

Saitou raised an eyebrow. Okita, still wiping his lip, met his comrade's mocking stare with a quizzical smile that soon widened with a hint of challenge.

The men of their squads would have fled the silent clash of _ki_ between the two apparently mismatched combatants– absurdly youthful Okita, hungry-eyed Saitou. Even the shop patrons, blind and deaf as they were to a swordsman's senses, nonetheless each wondered to himself why his swallow of saké, poor as it was, suddenly fired his tongue with bitter drops. The wiser of them drank hurriedly and scuttled free, into the chilly but more welcoming darkness outside.

Friend and rival; comrade in arms and fellow executioner- Okita Souji and Saitou Hajime were stalwarts of the complex brotherhood of the Shinsengumi.

Finally Okita relaxed and gave a careless wave, although his accompanying words were still tinged with friendly malice. "Saitou-_chan_, you of all people know I've no problem with the smell and feel of spilled blood, whether from Shishi **or** Shinsengumi." Gingerly he dabbed at his tongue. "But that damn taste!"

Saitou smirked and raised his cup in a mock salute. The pair lapsed into silence as Okita settled himself more comfortably on his bench and propped his chin on his palm. He gazed absently at the table for a long while.

"Bad verse or no, one must do _something_," he suddenly murmured. "I miss the _dojo_ and my students. I thought it would soon end after we sent the rebels running last year, yet- though we own the streets and have decimated the rebel supporters- every patrol finds plenty of other rats still mucking up the streets. It's wearying work. I don't mind a decent fight but if this is peace, it isn't one I should like my sister's children to grow up in."

Saitou grunted, eying the smaller man thoughtfully as he poured more saké. However, his eyes narrowed and he set his drink down again untouched just as Okita sat up straight and cocked his brow. As one the two men turned their heads towards the door.

"Okita-_san_! Okita-_san_!" A panting figure in the distinctive Shinsengumi blue and white flung open the wooden door and stared wildly about the dark interior. White puffs marked each harsh exhalation.

"Tetsuo, what is it?" Okita called with an easy smile. With a casual nod at Midori he drew forth a few coins and set them on the table.

The youngest member of Okita's squad stumbled towards their table and gasped for breath as he bowed to his superiors. "Okita-_san_– oh, your pardon, Saitou-_san_! Okita-_san_, please come quickly. Something you must see– some of us came across it just outside the teahouse– you know, the one–"

Both men had risen and crossed the room even before the young man had finished speaking, any traces of insobriety gone. Without further words Okita passed swiftly out of the saké shop, followed closely by his tall comrade.

Tetsuo blinked. "S–sir?" He gulped and hurried after his superiors.

The silver fire of the fat, bright moon burned shadows in sharp relief along Kyoto's ancient streets. Those streets had been quiet this night as they had not been for most of the past months– months in which the triumphant Shinsengumi had roamed and hunted rival factions at will, uncaring if bright moonlight betrayed their presence.

This night, however, the Shinsengumi in the narrow lane near one of their favored teahouses did not boldly strut their identities. Those not busy keeping frightened bystanders inside the surrounding buildings stood huddled in small groups, casting nervous glances from afar at the two men examining one of the still shapes sprawled upon the stones.

"Well?" Okita kept his voice low, mindful of his men's attention.

Saitou rose, scowling down at the dead man at his feet.

"_This_ time I'm sure- he's back."

Okita nodded slowly. "That downward killing slash is his alone," he replied, his youthful face thoughtful as he gazed at the bodies flung across stones blackened and sticky with gore. He rocked on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. "So our Kyoto's resident demon wasn't dead after all but likely lurking outside the city all this time, eh?"

"Hmph."

"So close to one of our favorite pleasure spots," Okita mused. "It's not like him to take such risks. This teahouse is new so I guess he hasn't been back in Kyoto long enough to know how the boundaries have changed." He dabbed a finger into a puddle. "Blood's still fresh. Less than an hour since, I would say."

"Hmph."

"Doesn't make a lot of sense, though. Seven months of silence and suddenly this sloppy effort, on such a bright night?" Okita clicked his tongue in disapproval as he peered at the bodies. "Other than the swordwork, it's all wrong: no notes, nobody special targeted- nothing like that nasty killing last week that had Kondou-_sama_ so bothered and perplexed."

His tall companion grunted. "Mimawarigumi idiots- stupid waste of time for the Ishin Shishi's prime _hitokiri_."

"You know what else I find odd, Saitou-_san_?" Okita turned to stare into the shadows where a narrow alley lay between the crumbling corners of two buildings. His voice rose. "Tell me this– why the hell are you still alive, hmm?"

Without surprise Saitou shrugged, his yellow eyes narrowed as he followed the other's gaze. "Just the one. Mimawari, like these."

"Do come out. We want to talk to you," Okita called, his voice light and pleasant. He smiled as he waited, but no answer came from the darkness. He shook his head and drew his sword, the rustling of his clothes loud in the night. "Now, now, this simply will not do. Don't make us come for you. I won't ask again."

The shadows shifted and a bedraggled man crept out. Wavering for a moment, the man abruptly flung himself on his face before the smaller of the two Shinsengumi captains. "Mercy! Mercy, sirs."

"Well, what do we have here?" Okita murmured. He tapped the tip of his blade against the stained cloth over the man's chest. "Mm, Mimawarigumi indeed. Your pickled nose is as good as ever, Saitou-_san_. Well, you _are_ a surprise, fellow. The Ishin Shishi's prime _hitokiri_ never leaves anyone alive."

"Mercy, sir," the man whimpered.

"We are Shinsengumi." Okita laughed softly. "Forget about that for now. You weren't left behind for a reason, were you? To trap us, for instance."

"No, sir! Oh, no! He just ignored me, I swear."

"Oh, 'he' did, did he? And who was this generous fellow?" Okita asked with a smirk.

"Battousai."

_Battousai_- the stones of the streets whispered the name back.

Saitou stiffened while Okita's hand tightened about his sword. "Who?" the young captain said softly.

Their prisoner swallowed. "H-him, sir. The swordsman who- who did all this."

"Why do you call him that?" The usual light amusement no longer laced Okita's voice. ""Friend of yours?"

"Please, sir, no!" the man almost screamed. "The men who were with him-that is what they called him. Battousai- Hi- Himura Battousai!"

_Battousai!_ This time the name shrieked off stone and the men in the streets stirred in fear, until a quick bright stare from Okita quelled them.

"Battousai, eh?" Saitou suddenly drawled. "He's either good or a prideful fool. I've never tried my Gatotsu against a _battojutsu_ master."

"A little focus, Saitou-_san_, if you would?" Okita turned back to their prisoner. His smile flashed as he gazed down the length of his blade but the man paled and swallowed hard. "You spin a very pretty tale but I am not entirely convinced. You say- just like that- you find out the name of the deadliest night prowler in Kyoto, whom no one before has ever seen and lived to tell about, and who just happens to be taking the night air with his friends. Amuse me some more! Tell me, why have Battousai's hunting habits changed?"

"I don't know, sir. Please, he was with a group of Ishin Shishi supporters, well behind them. We didn't see him when we– well, when we– "

Saitou snorted, eyes narrowed in disgust. "So you tried your hand at a bit of common thievery and picked the wrong prey. Idiots."

"Saitou-_san_, a moment please. Do go on."

"We had no idea who he was, sir. He seemed to be just a bodyguard, sir. He- he told us to leave if we wished to live. The others did not want to give up the money to be had, and decided that together they could take Battousai out since he seemed reluctant to fight and we outnumbered him. But I distrusted his look and- I ran." He fell silent, cringing a little after his confession of cowardice before these men famed for their intransigence in the line of duty.

"And were they correct?" Okita queried in genuine interest. "Was Battousai reluctant to fight?"

The Mimawari swordsman shuddered. "No," he whispered. "He was fierce. A _demon_."

Neither Shinsengumi captain reacted for a long moment. Then Okita sighed and prodded the man under his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"My sincerest thanks for the name," he said gently, his sword tip pressing a light indentation into the man's neck. "Now, give me his face." His bright eyes glittered as he leaned toward the terrified prisoner, Saitou looming over his shoulder.

The Mimawarigumi soldier's eyes darted between the young swordsman and his tall yellow-eyed companion and saw death gazing back at him from both. His bowels loosened as readily as his tongue.

After a few moments of sifting through the frantic babbling, Okita reared back in surprise.

"A short youth with red hair and with a cross-shaped scar on his cheek?" he repeated, his eyes wide. Suddenly he burst into peals of laughter and pulled back his blade. "Saitou-_san_! No wonder we could never find this Battousai. We only ever looked for the usual dark-haired fellows– little scarred redheads _of course_ had no problem blending into the shadows!"

His laughter rang in the night but his companion did not answer, his eyes thoughtful as he stared into the distance.

"Saitou?"

"I know that man," he replied at last. "The scar– hmm, but red hair… yes…"

"How wonderful of you." Okita grinned and gestured with his sword. The blade shone in the moonlight. "Lead on!"

Saitou shook his head. "It was just the once, the night of the Ikedaya affair. I sensed his spirit and saw him briefly before he shielded himself. But we marked each other." He grinned slowly, eyes as bright as the moonlight. "Well, well- _Battousai_."

"Damn, you're a single-minded old wolf who never forgets a scent, heh?" Okita rolled his eyes and then regarded the frightened, soiled man at their feet. "Speaking of smells– what to do with you? Saitou-_san_?"

Saitou grunted as he drew his sword. "Mibu's wolves have better things to do than waste time with scavengers like you- men without even the honor of rats." His blade flashed.

Okita watched, eyes distant, as Saitou turned away and flicked the blood off his sword before sheathing it. The captain of the first unit had drawn a square of pale paper from his sleeve and was engaged in polishing his own gleaming sword, each deliberate pass accented by the hiss of the paper against the fine steel.

"Proves that assassination last week really wasn't the _hitokiri_- Battousai-changing his style as some rumors had it," he commented. "It seems as if Yamazaki-_san_'s spies were right about the rebels running a new _hitokiri_."

"Hmph." Saitou squatted upon his haunches as he brooded over one of the corpses.

Undeterred, Okita continued to muse aloud. "Why not run both _hitokiri_, then, Saitou-_kun_? It's not as if their other assassins were much good; we've certainly had little trouble with them. But unleash these two devils together- Battousai doesn't seem to have lost his touch; why bring him out into the open like this, after so long a time? Unless- we _have_ been more effective than we thought at taking out their important supporters and they want to protect them better. On the other hand, what a waste of his skills and his legend!"

"Hmph."

"And that scar- I wonder if he was badly injured during that fracas last year and is only now just recovered." Okita sheathed his sword and rubbed his eyes. "Damn them, just what the hell are the Ishin Shishi up to? And who the hell is this other _hitokiri_ that we now have to worry about?"

"Hmph."

"Fine for you, Saitou-_chan_, Hijikata lets you run around on a pretty loose leash. But I have to make sure Kondou-_sama_ is informed, and Hijikata will prose on and pick at me for all the damned details I don't have– I'm going to be stuck in meetings for hours!"

"I have a poem for you, Okita-_kun_," Saitou suddenly said.

"A poem for me?" Okita blinked, unperturbed at the sudden change of topic. "How thoughtful of you, Saitou-_sama_."

"It's more of a hunting song–it's somewhat original and better quality than your drivel." Shadows cut dark swathes across Saitou's lean face and the moonlight glinted off his feral grin as he recited,

"Little red _oni_, if you will not fight, I will kill you.

Little red _oni_, if you will not fight, I will make you.

Little red _oni_, if you will not fight, I will wait until you do."

  


Okita blinked. "Original, you say? No wonder you're so casual about stealing ideas. How very unprincipled of you, Saitou-_kyo_." He laughed. "But I like the sentiments very much."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Saitou's mouth. "I take only from the best when I do. Whether in poetry or foes."

"So you adopt the words of which- Oda, Toyotomi, or Tokugawa?"

"Why choose just one?" With grace worthy of a wolf he rose and nodded at Okita. "You've been restless this past month, wasting your time on bad poetry and women you aren't even interested in and scattering away your brains on brooding. Pity in a way about Battousai- he's helped clean out some of those gutter spawn you've been moaning about and given you something worthwhile to do. You inform Kondou-_san_ and Hijikata-_san_ and worry over multiplying _hitokiri_ and how rebels think." His wolf's grin flashed again. "I will see you back at headquarters in a few hours. It's a fine night for demon hunting."

Okita watched the tall man vanish into the darkness, then threw his head back and studied the sky. "'Little red _oni_, if you will not fight, I will make you'," he repeated softly before drawing in a deep breath. "Now, now, Saitou-_chan_, such a bright full moon ought to be shared. Kondou-_sama_ can wait. It's time to release my wolfpack, too."

"Okita-_san_?" Tetsuo ventured forward. "Do you have orders for us?"

"You can inform the authorities about cleaning up this mess." Okita grinned at the other's crestfallen expression and drew his sword, the keening as his blade slid free sending shivers through the men now gathering about their squad leader. "As for the rest of you…" The captain's bright eyes regarded each face before him. "As Saitou-_san_ said, it's a fine night for a hunt. We've given him enough of a head start­ to find and gather his unit– no need to be too generous."

He laughed merrily and turned to set off down the street, his men falling into position around him. "Besides, I've never chased deadly little redheads down dark alleys before- how novel!"

* * *

**  


- - - - 2 - - - -

**  


My belly no longer aches with hunger, with that chewing, twisting feel as if I am eating myself up from inside. Of course it was worst the first few weeks; after that it was just something that was always there, but dulled, so that sometimes I could sort of ignore it. It's almost like a kind of silence now. Not that I know much of silence anymore.

There is softness against my skin, and warmth. Until I came here I can't recall when I was last warm but now the softness and warmth are almost too much. Every bit of my skin is alive.

_Hush, let the poor boy sleep. He is still very weak even after all these weeks._

She's here again- always talking, talking as if I couldn't hear. Of course I can. Very, very well.

_He's always sleeping, Mother._

That brat- he hates me. I can hear you, brat- your voice, your hate, your heart- all of it. Ever since that day.

I think I've seen your face, too, and not in dreams. I wouldn't want to dream of something as stupid looking as you! It's hard to tell now when I am awake or not, since it all seems the same to me, but I am sure I must have been up and about. My legs and arms feel stronger. I know about the rooms which lie outside this one, know the taste of the meals I've eaten, know the smell of the flowers scattered in the halls.

Even when I come back here in bed- I remember doing that- I am always smelling, tasting, feeling- my thoughts dart madly, never at rest.

…

_What did you say? Are you being a spiteful child, to one so unfortunate?_

_I'm sorry, Mother._

Heh. I heard what he called me. Nothing slips past me. Damn, you're loud, brat. Damn bastard. Heh. I've been in the army.

_His hair is so weird, especially for a Japanese kid._

_He must have known a truly great grief to become so marked. Be a good boy and watch him while I see about luncheon for the two of you._

_Yes, Mother… I still think you're a freak!_

Already heard you. As if I care what a stinky, snotty-nosed brat like you thinks. Anyway, whispering is useless, you know.

_You're so creepy, you little weirdo. You never say anything, and that white hair-_

White. _Nee-san_ was always so pretty in white.

I feel cold again.

The snow fell so heavily that day. I was there- I remember it very well because back then I always knew when I was awake and when I wasn't. Thick white clots, as big as butterflies, so that I couldn't see clearly an arm's length before me. But I saw enough. The cold froze me there amongst the trees, while I watched _him_ with _Nee-san_, while the snow fell-

Of course my hair is now white. I couldn't escape the snow and carried it away with me, even here over the sea. I can never escape it. Not even in sleep, 'cause awake or asleep, it's all the same to me now.

Maybe not all the same- _Nee-san_- I like to sleep 'cause then I can see her. I often dream of her walking towards me, her _geta_ silent upon the snow, looking so alive but never looking at me, never smiling at me-

Wha-?

_N-Nee-san_? _Nee-san_! I- it is you…

Don't go! Don't go! Don't leave me alone!

_Geez, kid, you okay? Wake up, will you? You're whining! _

Shut up! You don't belong! I don't need you! _Nee-san_… _Nee-san_…

You really are here, this time. It's not a dream, is it?

I'm so glad you're here. You always did know when I get upset. But why didn't you come to me at Toba-Fushimi? Or when I first came to Shanghai? I wanted you so much then! No, no don't be mad- it's ok. It's ok.

So glad. So glad.

_He's calmed down. Guess I'll just let him sleep. Geez, sitting here is boring. I'm huuungry!_

Hmm, guess I am too. The lady cooks ok, though I still think you cooked the best in the world. I loved the soup you made just for me whenever my stomach hurt. I can still taste it.

_I wish I hadn't left my picture book in my room. I could look at it instead of the freaky kid._

I was wandering around this house once- yes, I'm pretty sure it wasn't a dream because I remember the master was with me. He's ok- very proud of his house. It's a very fancy place. He showed me a room that he called a library, that was full of papers and books and big boxes made of glass. The glass boxes had things inside that he said he liked to collect and that had to be always protected because they were worth a lot of money.

Money. We never had much extra money, did we, _Nee-san_? This man- he has enough to spend on things he doesn't even use.

He showed me some swords- he said nothing can beat a Japanese blade- and a book that I would like to find out more about. The man said it was priceless, and told about a sword style unknown to Japan and strong enough to even slay demons. I've thought about it ever since. I could use that book.

Can money buy strength?

The master of this house seems to think so.

_He's_ very strong, the _bastard_. I hate him but I know I have to think straight- I learned that in the army. He cut you almost in half and still got the old guy in the same swing. At Toba-Fushimi, even though the battlefield was smoky and crazy with confusion, I could always tell where he was from the screams and the hissing of thirsty steel. And the dead he left behind. He was just a common soldier, not even one of the generals- bet he liked to do the killing, not the ordering.

I made sure to remember the smell and the sound because that's how I know I will always be able to find him.

Does it take strength to get money?

I want to be strong. I have to be strong. I've been so weak, just lying here or wandering around this house. Just never before had a reason to really get up. But now…

That is such an interesting book.

If I had it, and maybe some money, then I can get just as strong as _him_, right, _Nee-san_?

You're smiling… at last, you're smiling…

_Here we are! For a special treat we'll have our lunch downstairs and after that we'll go play with some of the things in the library? Won't you like that? Time to wake up, dear!_

Yes.

* * *

**Author's notes: **

The ten-unit structure of the Shinsengumi familiar to RK fans was not formed until 1865. Since I haven't found the exact founding date I took the liberty of setting it to coincide with the first month of the year; hence Okita and Saitou are new to their respective commands and their positions in the Shinsengumi hierarchy at the time Battousai returns.

Native Americans called a full moon in January a Full Wolf Moon. Appropriate time for the first major hunt of the new Shinsengumi wolfpacks.

Okita's addressing Saitou by the whole range of honorifics is my way of poking a little gentle fun at Watsuki's decision to both make Okita so very young-looking and to have Saitou address him as an inferior. In reality Okita was if anything senior to Saitou despite being slightly younger. The real Okita was apparently a light-hearted guy who didn't drink much or womanize. He was also less talkative than my version.

'Kondou' is Kondou Isami, head of the Shinsengumi, who was eventually captured and beheaded.

'Yamazaki' is Yamazaki Susumu, the leader of the Shinsengumi spies, who was later killed at Toba-Fushimi.

'Hijikata' is Hijikata Toshizou, the second in command of the Shinsengumi and their strict taskmaster. By some accounts he and Okita were not particularly close.

Saitou's hunting song is of course based on the famous legend of how the three great Sengoku Jidai warlords Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu each gave a distinctive response to a nightingale's refusal to sing that reflected his personality.

Oh, yes, the 'jade gate' in Okita's salacious (and deliberately bad poem) is a euphemism for something naughty. I will leave it at that.


	4. That which we reap

**Disclaimer**: Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, Viz, LLC, _etc._ own Rurouni Kenshin. The following is a work of fiction intended only for entertainment and reflects the author's admiration for the remarkable world of our favorite wanderer. Any resemblance to actual historical characters is incidental.

In honor of May 14…

* * *

**– – – – The Red – – – –**

"What is the worth of a crop nurtured by a rain of blood?"

Startled by the softly voiced question, Katsura broke off his conversation with Katakai. The two men, who had been relaxing during this last night of their stay at the inn while idly discussing whether the shogun Yoshimune's actions had indirectly led to the famine of 1733, exchanged puzzled looks before Katsura returned his attention to his youthful _hitokiri_.

Himura sat crosslegged near his mentor as he always did during Katsura's increasingly rare visits, but this time he kept his head lowered and his gaze fixed upon a torn edge of the _tatami_ on which he sat.

When the silence stretched he repeated in the same monotone, "What is the worth of a crop nurtured by a rain of blood?"

Katsura's eyes narrowed as he scented the faint tang accompanying the soft exhalation.

_Is that – saké? Himura doesn't drink. At least, he didn't until about three months back, during my last visit…_

His gaze shifted to the still vivid slash that marred Himura's pale golden cheek.

_Three months and yet the mark is almost as raw and angry as at the moment when he first returned with it._

He glanced at Katakai and nodded. His henchman bowed and, with a frown at the silent _hitokiri_, left the room.

Once they were alone Katsura, at a loss for words, sipped his tea. All evening the youth's _ki_ had felt strange and remote although he sat within arm's reach. Katsura had been aware of his growing withdrawal during each visit but this time was the greatest change yet. Himura's was a soul–draining task and the older man regretted having yielded to his advisers' insistence – however well-argued – that he distance himself from his prime _hitokiri_.

_Secrecy, Katsura-_san _– you are too visible and Battousai must remain in the shadows if he is to be effective at bringing down Tenchu upon the shogunate._

_Above all _your_ hands must be clean, Katsura-_san_! I'izuka is reliable and will be a fine handler._

In place of their previous conversations communication was now almost solely through their black envelopes – carefully sanitized down the chain of command – and the occasional formal written report. Katsura studied the bowed red head. He had hoped that the young man would have forged closer ties with the others, but other than with the carefree I'izuka it had not happened and even I'izuka was kept at some distance. Katsura was not entirely sure how to deal with this chasm in his understanding with the enigmatic youth.

"You knew the farmer's life once, Himura," he said at last, choosing his words with care.

"A long time ago – I had almost forgotten…" The quiet voice trailed away.

"That's all right." Katsura managed to smile naturally. "Though you were a child then you no doubt still remember more than I have learned. I have had to travel in rather humble disguises through the countryside these past months. There is so much different beyond the city limits but learn I must for I have forever set aside my sword. I have found that at times I must look to men such as the farmer for the simple wisdom to guide the Ishin Shishi."

To his relief the youth raised his head to study his mentor.

_Carefully, carefully _– "Listen to me, Himura. To a certain extent the farmer is at the mercy of the whims of the gods. The quality of the land he must work and the cooperation of the seasons – these are given to him by the heavens. But he is not entirely helpless; a good farmer knows that the value of the crop he does raise will depend on what he puts into it.

"He can plant good seed but if the land is barren and dry even the best seed will not take. The task is even harder when the earth has been allowed to poison itself for many years. But the earth is all-important in what we need to sustain the future and it _must_ be made to accept. It is here that the farmer shows his strength; above all else it is he who must labor to make the soil friable and it as at this time, Himura, when he needs his finest and most faithful tools – strong, steady blades to dig into the stubborn land so that the sun and rain may reach deep within.

"Good tools become as one with the farmer's hand and with care will last many seasons and many crops. A wise farmer knows and plans for this. What he asks in return is simple, Himura – work the land! Through drought or red rain – plunge in and prepare the field with all your will and surely the crop will come in strongly." Katsura's impassioned voice filled the room as he leaned forward, searching his _hitokiri_'s pale eyes.

The youth averted his head and remained posed on his mat for long moments before he rose in his usual graceful amnner. Katsura sensed the other's _ki_ subsiding but it still remained turbulent.

Himura bowed to the older man. "Thank you for your time, Katsura-_san_." He turned to leave.

Katsura frowned in sudden irritation at how adroitly the stubborn fellow had shielded himself once more. "Himura! Do you understand what I say?"

The young man paused, one slim hand holding the _shoji_ halfway open. What almost sounded like dry amusement threaded his voice as he replied, "I do. Katsura-_san_, from the experience of one who, as you said, remembers more than what you have learned – the most earnest desires aside, it's only when it is at last time to harvest that can you find out how bitterly the crop lies against the tongue." He bowed again and slipped away.

After he had gone, Katsura Kogoro blew out his breath on a sigh, his brief spurt of irritation evaporating. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the pull of tense muscles. He allowed himself the luxury of a few wistful thoughts of Ikumatsu, wishing his _geisha_ lover was with him and massaging his shoulders with her graceful, skilled hands.

Despite Himura's words he doubted that he had eased the burdens that clearly lay so heavily in the young man's thoughts. Indeed he was certain that his _hitokiri_ had understood his speech – far better than he had intended.

It was one of life's truths: sometimes, however much care the farmer took, even the finest of his tools would break. It was the price to pay for choosing to work a stubborn, hostile field however much the wise farmer prepared for all possibilities. And at season's end, however bitter the taste, at least some bellies would be full.

His prime _hitokiri_ had always been one to comprehend and accept.

With a last roll of his shoulders he rose and crossed to his low desk. Frowning, he opened the drawer and withdrew the folded piece of paper he had secreted within only hours before. Unfolding the thick sheet he studied the untidy, heavily edited scribbling.

_A short list_, he mused. _Such skills as Himura commands are rare enough, and a man strong enough to wield such skills with an honest heart is as rare as a dragon_.

He and Takasugi Shinsaku had debated for days as Katsura had considered who else of the Ishin Shishi's best swordsmen could join his prime _hitokiri_ in the shadows. Himura's successes had convinced Katsura that two such deliverers of Tenchu would even more swiftly shatter the shogunate's hold on Kyoto. He tapped his finger thoughtfully upon the last name on the list.

_Madness calls to madness, Shinsaku said as he wrote down this name, _he thought. _You will find him an intriguing one, Kogoro: as strong as Himura and just as clever with words, he is a cannon with a flaw at the core that I have no use for under my command. Ha ha, but as for you – use him until he cracks!_

Sighing, Katsura studied the name a moment longer, then refolded the paper and returned it to the drawer. He picked up his cold tea and drank.

Tomorrow he would have to depart the inn. He thought about the upcoming wearisome journey with distaste but he had no choice. He had heard rumblings and he was worried for his home province. Choshu was restless, alliances unsettled. However swiftly he managed to travel he feared events would overwhelm him. And Kyoto herself was seething.

Katsura glanced again at the desk drawer and nodded firmly. He would write the letter to Takasugi tonight before he left the inn, requesting his friend send the promising swordsman to him.

He must never lose sight of the fact that Japan was greater than Kyoto or even Choshu. If things did go drastically wrong, he needed to keep Himura safe until he could be unleashed once more.

He considered that solemn young man and his mind turned to the quiet places he had passed through during his travels; places that were distant and slow to move, where a sore heart might find some solace.

_I had almost forgotten…_ Himura's soft whisper fluttered once more in the silence of the room.

It took a hard man to lead in these uncertain times. But one too hard would only dash himself to pieces against the whims of the heavens. Katsura spread his hands and regarded them thoughtfully. Despite his advisers' insistence he would make sure to be around as much as possible in the next couple months. It was time to do his utmost to keep his best tool from breaking in the first place.

"I think you would like a place away from Kyoto, my young friend," he murmured. "A place to bury your hands in simple dirt, where the nights are quiet and no dark streets lie before you. A safe place, where perhaps you might also find a little peace. I will have to arrange for such a retreat."

A shadow across the _shoji_ drew his attention. "Katsura-_san_?" Katakai's gravelly voice rumbled from beyond the thin paper panels.

"Enter."

Katakai lumbered in. He cocked a brow at the empty room. "Battousai giving you trouble, Katsura-_san_?"

Katsura smiled and shook his head. "Of course not, Katakai. We were merely discussing the, ah, hazards of the farming life."

Katakai blinked. "_Battousai_ thinking of taking up farming?" he exclaimed but Katsura only gave a noncommittal smile.

"Himura is a very resourceful fellow."

"Oh," Katakai muttered doubtfully. "Close-mouthed fellow. Nothing like my father – the old man babbled all the time about stuff like that, always crumbling the soil between his fingers and fussing over the feel. What was that he was fond of repeating? 'A touch of frost – the first kiss of the snow – that's what you need to sweeten the earth and tame it'."

Katsura laughed softly. "Wise words from a wise man."

Katakai scratched his head. "He did grow good vegetables." He snorted. "Now much help for right now, though. It's less than a month until Gion and the beginning of summer. Not even Battousai could find his first kiss of the snow during the middle of a warm summer night."

* * *

**– – – – The White – – – –**

A complicated man.

A man who, in public, grinned and spoke persuasive words but betrayed little of himself; yet a man who, in private, smiled and spoke with care but readily surrendered his entirety to her keeping.

Such a complicated man with whom she lived.

Kaoru knew herself to be much simpler. Whether by a swing of fist or _bokken_, a torrent of tears or heedless hugs, she rarely kept him in doubt as to her moods or what caused them.

His mind, however, roamed along much less straightforward paths and she was never quite sure where his thoughts would take him. They were still too newly married for that although she was happy that since their marriage he brooded less. But however unknown the journey, she always willingly went with him, as far as he would allow her to go; and each journey led to both greater understanding and puzzlement.

His wanderings in thought were subtle. One morning, despite the glory of the fine spring day, Kaoru sensed a deeper introspection than usual as he moved about his chores. Yahiko, intent on a particularly tricky maneuver in the _dojo_, did not notice the distance behind Kenshin's smile but Kaoru was not fooled. She fretted as he spent nearly half the day at the market, disappearing immediately into the kitchen when he returned with laden baskets.

She chased Yahiko out for the night as soon as she could. The boy resented her peremptory actions and retaliated with a spate of verbal abuse that precipitated a particularly spectacular scuffle between teacher and pupil. But a worried Kaoru was nigh an invincible Kaoru and a surly Yahiko was speedily banished with a few well–placed knocks. Kaoru hurried toward the bath house where her husband had retreated to stoke up the fire. He was not in sight, however, and Kaoru washed as quickly as she could, in her haste forgoing her usual relaxing soak. Her worry was not eased when she returned to the house and Kenshin gently refused her usual help with the dinner preparations.

"Here – let me set the table!"

"No need. This one has everything in hand."

"Are– are you sure, Kenshin?"

"Very sure, Kaoru-_dono_. Wait until this one calls you."

_Kaoru-_dono? she wailed silently as she padded to her room. Something _was_ bothering Kenshin. He almost never called her that any more when they were alone except during their rare spats or when he was preoccupied. Busying herself with some stitchwork Kaoru brooded over her husband's odd behavior. She was no closer to a conclusion by the time his quiet voice called her.

When she entered the room she eyed the laden table with some surprise. The dishes had been set out with an exacting eye, and the food had been prepared with even greater care than he usually devoted to the task. She inspected the contents of each dish as she hovered uncertainly, sniffing the tantalizing scents.

Finely sliced daikon, lightly sweetened and sharply fragrant with vinegar; a savory fish broth in which cubes of tofu tumbled alongside a few straw-colored mushrooms while the fish itself lay in a neat white pile in a shallow plate; bowls of gently steaming rice –fancier than their usual fare, prepared simply enough but in slightly unfamiliar ways that reminded her how widely Kenshin had roamed and what different things he had experienced – how many foreigners he must have met and shared a meal with.

The meal smelled so delicious and was so lovely – and so oddly formal and pale against the worn warmth of the table.

"Kenshin?" Her voice betrayed her puzzlement.

"Please sit, Kaoru-_dono_." He waited until she had knelt by the table before he settled beside her.

Kaoru fidgeted and before he could speak hurried into speech. "It all looks so good, Kenshin. And there's so much! Um, are you – are you marking an occasion?"

Kenshin answered, "Today is a day for memories, Kaoru-_dono_. On this day, a good man passed and this one's course was set."

Her eyes flew to the calendar on the wall. One swift glance was sufficient and she blushed.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot! How could I have forgotten?_

She had not, not really. It was simply that, despite being assured of his deep affection, she always avoided acknowledging this date that had caused her such grief. Especially today, the first time they had observed the date as a married couple.

Her conscience twinged. Hard as it was for her, how much worse for Kenshin, who had been forced to face his past and who had suffered terribly for it.

She touched his hand gently. "Kenshin?"

Kenshin had been watching each betraying expression flicker over her face. He said, "Such great hopes we had during Bakumatsu. But when the era actually arrived, so many lost hope during the reality. It was men such as Okubo Tsukamichi who continued to struggle to make real what had been promised."

Kaoru's eyes widened in realization and she glanced down at the table with its arrangement of dishes.

_Each dish wears white. Why, Kenshin's dressed our table for mourning!_

Kenshin continued, "When Okubo-san was killed by Shishio's man Soujiro, this one understood that there was a real danger that the era would fall once more into fire and ruin and take Japan with it.

"This one did not lie when he told Okubo-san that he looked older and tired. The age had already worn him down, and then his enemies proved to be too much for him. This one could not let his sacrifice be for nothing."

Kaoru's eyes welled with tears, for both the assassinated minister and the grave man before her, even though she found it hard to forgive Okubo for forcing Kenshin to fight again.

"During Bakumatsu this one made it rain blood." The sadness in his voice wrung her heart. "Once on this date this one asked Katsura Kogoro what kind of harvest could be expected from such a spring deluge. This one was very naïve and only understood part of what Katsura-_san_ was trying to say." Kenshin paused and contemplated the dishes. "So this one has prepared food to remember that. Never easy answers."

Kaoru sniffed and scrubbed away her tears. "But why this day? I mean, I would have thought you would choose toward the end of the year –"

Under Kenshin's grave regard she stopped and blushed brightly. "Sorry, sorry! I ­­– I didn't mean –" She floundered to an embarrassed stop and jumped when Kenshin's warm fingers closed about her own.

"Kaoru-_dono_, this one has many such days to remember, to atone. But those are days only of sorrow. This day is more." He smiled at her puzzled expression.

"This one thought that as long as he continued to wander time would pass him by as the water ignores the stones along the riverbed. And so it did, until this one found this place and realized he was tired of running. The years were spent in atonement but no true forgiveness could be found outside of time. When this one decided to face Shishio he knew both had to cast themselves back into the stream. It was not so pleasant to do so, Kaoru-_dono_, nor so safe. But it reminded this one that he was only a man, and that a man must exist in his time, with all the bad and good that went with it." He paused and added, "And that was good to remember."

She smiled at him through her tears. "It is also good to remember that to mourn those who have passed is also to celebrate life." She gestured at the food. "Surely here is the other part of the answer that Katsura-_san_ was trying to tell you, about what nurtures the people of Japan in the new era. The earth too forgives, Kenshin," she reminded him softly.

His answering smile warmed her. "Yes, Kaoru-_dono_, it does. This one will continue to atone for my role but cannot regret the outcome. The harvest offered, which lies on this table – it is both an end and a beginning. A remembrance and a celebration. So on this day, a good man passed from this life –"

"And on this day another good man decided to return to living this life," she interrupted, her minatory glare at odds with the fierce squeezing of her fingers.

Kenshin smiled. "If Kaoru-_dono_ says so. But more importantly…" He closed his eyes.

Kaoru caught her breath and leaned forward in quick concern. "Kenshin? What is it?"

Her husband opened his eyes and smiled at her, his gaze and smile so bright she caught her breath. "More importantly, on this day this one decided to prepare a special meal for you to enjoy in our home. Now, Kaoru, let us eat our supper before it grows cold."

Such a complicated man.


End file.
